Friday, November 18, 2005

Chapter 18 and 19 (29827 words out of 50000)


She’s never fucked like this. Her hair is matted down in sweat and her eyes are fucking enraged. She’s grunting and breathing heavy through her clenched teeth. She’s pounding on my chest and she’s pinching her nipples and she’s telling me to pull her hair and slap her ass. She’s jumping on my cock, she’s telling me she loves it, she’s telling me it’s the best cock she’s ever had. She’s cumming all over me, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, she’s jerking me off with her feet, she’s licking my sweaty balls, she’s deep-throating my dick. She’s playing with herself, standing over me, asking me to do the same while she looks down at me like a fucking cheerleader – like a fucking dirty, nasty cheerleader. Her legs are wrapped around my waste, around my neck – she’s pulling me into her cunt and demanding me to taste it – demanding me to tell me what it’s like – she’s pulling me up and deep kissing me, licking the pussy juice off my lips and telling me she tastes good. She’s sucking my fingers while I ram her snatch, she’s pretending it’s someone else’s cock, her eyes are closed and my hand is fucking her throat. Her legs are on my shoulders – now she’s bending over and showing me her ass, begging me to take her from behind – she’s asking me to slow it down – to speed it up – to tease me with my cock. I’m slapping it on her face, fucking her tits, rubbing it between her ass-crack. I’m cumming on her belly and she’s rubbing it in while thriving in ecstasy, she’s licking her fingers and telling me how good I taste.

You know you have a woman in your control when they fuck you like this.


When I was six my mom caught me in a lie. It wasn’t a big one, it was something stupid like she asked me if I ate some fucking candy and I told her that I didn’t and she didn’t believe me so she me asked me if I was lying. I said I wasn’t, obviously, and she asked me to swear on Poppy’s soul. Poppy was my grandfather, he died before I was born. Supposedly a nice enough guy, plumber or something, the neighborhood people liked him and shit – no other plumbers in all of South Brooklyn so I guess you gotta like the only guy who’ll scoop your shit out the bowl when you clog it up. Apparently my mom and poppy were close, I don’t know if that’s true or not because I never witnessed them together but she always said she was close with him and with nothing else to go on that’s good enough for me. My father always told me that mom wore black for about a year after poppy died so, you know, she must have liked him quite a bit. What I couldn’t understand then was, if my mom really cared so much about poppy, why the fuck would she ask me to swear on his soul for something as trivial as ruining dinner? I said yes, I swear, fully realizing I was damning poppy’s soul to hell and I think my mom realized it to because she actually has the fucking tits to ask me, “Are you sure? Because if you’re lying my father is going to burn in hell for all of eternity.” I mean, she obviously knows what’s at stake here, you’d think she’d just take it back and ask me to swear on Mr. T or some shit at this point but no, not my mom, not the woman who loves her dad so much, poppy’s soul is a fair trade for the truth about a fucking six-year-old’s eating habits when you look at the big picture. So I said yes, I am sure, and by doing so I caused my mom to cock her head, stare at me with tear soaked eyes for what felt like a fucking hour, before saying, “OK.” What the fuck else was she going to do at this point? If she pushes on and says she knows I’m lying it’s the same thing as admitting you just purposely banned your dad to hell – you used his soul as a fucking bribe. So she just dropped it, she buried it. Like all people on this planet, my mom buries her problems deep. Her main problem? A fucking flare for the dramatic, you could say, with a decent dose of self-esteem issues, anxiety, reckless endangerment and some obsessive compulsive complexes to go along with her obvious eating disorder and complete lack of health.

My mom is a fucking wreck. If I keep that perspective, I’ll get through this fucking dinner just fine.

“So he goes hunting every year?” Her and Agatha are getting along, they both have this hidden disdain for my father going on, I think my mom is excited about the fact that she’s no longer alone in thinking her husband is a complete fucking asshole. All she had to do all these years is pay attention to what people are like around him, the only people that get along with my father are his asshole religious fucking freak friends and even that is shaky. But Agatha and my mom roll their eyes at the mention of my father and have their little across the table moments and I just ignore it – I have no patience for this clown-shoes junior high school shit. When I was ten-years-old my mom checked me into the hospital because I had a “persistent cough”. She didn’t call my pediatrician; she didn’t consult a fucking medical handbook or anything like that – straight to the hospital. The doctor looked at her like she was nuts, he thought this was a veiled cry for help, my mom was seeking medical attention to deal with her own fucking problems but could justify to herself, her husband, whatever, that she needed to spend the fucking co-pay on herself. Knowing enough people and working them over I think it’s safe to say the doctor’s psychology was a bit sketchy – plus, it’s obvious my mom is simply fucking nuts.

“Yeah – I haven’t seen him on Thanksgiving since…the year after his father passed.” Paps. Fucking paps, that guy was a goddamn ball buster if I’ve ever seen one. He was old military guy, Korean war or some shit, not really a hero – I even think her was dishonorably discharged or some shit – don’t know what for, though. He’d always give me shit, rough me up like he was fucking power tripping and then give me a quarter to shut me up. He supposedly had it out with my mom some years back, told her he never liked her but never gave a reason although anyone with a half a fucking brain would know it goes back to my mom being so sweet and innocent she brings out the worst in you. The thing is, no-one ever heard him say this – just my mom. My father thought she made it all up, like she was starting shit to tare the two of them apart – this is the kind of shit that goes on in my family – everybody’s playing these fucking games and no-one trusts anyone else. If, down the road, some fucking shrink decides to do a case-study on me I’m pretty sure what he’ll decide is the cause of my “controlling, domineering and manipulative” personality. He can blame my fucked up family all the fuck he wants and I won’t contradict the dip-shit as long as I’m getting something out of the relationship.

“How long ago was that?” Ten years ago – I was fucking there. It was the worst goddamn Thanksgiving of all time, this was about a week after my mom’s blowout with my father over whether or not paps was talking shit to her. My father, being an understanding man, decided to tell fucking paps who, obviously, denied saying anything of the sort. My mom was berated the entire fucking meal by paps and my father, they called her a lying bitch and a lazy fuck and a whole slew of insults designed to break her, and they succeeded. I felt bad then but, looking at her now, I’m fucking pissed at her. She fed this asshole, you know? Her goddamn passive personality caused her to just fucking take everything this douche –

“Marla?” It was ten years ago, what the fuck’s her problem?

“Marla? Joseph – “ Oh c’mon, what the fuck is going on here?

My mom falls of her chair clutching at her chest, she’s fucking silent and her face is pale. She’s gotta be choking or some shit, I don’t fucking know, she wasn’t eating anything. What the fuck is she faking? Is this her attempt at getting me into her life again?

“Joseph! Call an ambulance, Joseph!”

She’s gotta be faking. That’s so what she does. She’s fucking dramatic – she loves to be the center of pity, she loes to be a fucking martyr. This isn’t real. This is what she does – this is what she’s been doing to me since birth.


She’s not even selling it right. She’s twitching too much, I think. The whole saliva thing is way Hollywood. The eyes turning up – I mean, come on, is she going for a fucking People’s Choice award over here? Clutching at her left arm, gasping for breath, sweating – this is fucking textbook. She’s not fooling anyone except Agatha and Agatha’s easily fooled.

“JOSEPH! FUCK! I’ll call.”

She knocked the turkey over, dropped a bowl of mashed potatoes on her oversized dress. Her cranberry sauce is all over the floor because she pulled the table cloth off with her. The wine glass shattered. Agatha’s flipping out. She’s convulsing. This is fucking After School Special. This is fucking Lifetime: Television for Women. This is fucking a “very special Different Strokes”. Everything is just fucking right, this is Steven Spielberg filming a heart-attack. This is Andy Kaufman playing a joke on someone. This is Colin Fucking Farrell trying to prove he can act.

Who’s going to fall for this shit?

I’m getting through this dinner just fine.


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